Awkward Encounters
by Dreams At Dusk
Summary: What puts the Darkling off more than a screaming horde of Fjerdans? (Featuring the Sweaty Duchess.)


"That's a lovely piece. The ring."

Alina instinctively lifted her hand at the comment, her eyes flickering to said ring as the Darkling clasped her fingers and tilted them. The gem caught the fading light of day with the motion. The flash of it was a modest one, though Alina scarcely noticed. The sensation of calm that always overtook her at his touch was bickering genially with a sudden rush of butterflies in her stomach. His skin felt very warm in the chilly air.

"It. . .Genya gave it to me." It felt important to clarify this, with the Darkling looking now at her rather than the ring, his eyes unreadable. "For the Feast da—"

" _Moi soverenyi!"_

Had he not still been grasping her hand, Alina might not have noticed any reaction at all - the Darkling's expression was as inscrutable as ever. But there was no other term for what shot through their connection just then save pure and utter consternation. It was still busy tumbling into her awareness even as he released her hand and turned. Alina leaned slightly to one side to peer around him, but otherwise did not move, out of what she felt to be duly required caution under the circumstances. Surely not even a screaming horde of Fjerdans could have conjured _that_ reaction out of the Darkling.

The sight advancing down the path toward them was quite the compact horde as things went: a woman in frothy court dress and a. . .something. . .towed behind her on a delicate lead. Where the queen's dog had been a snuffling, somewhat fluffy, creature, this particular specimen looked more akin to a rodent. A spindly, near-naked rodent in a knitted monstrosity of a wool jumpsuit. Tiny paws barely extended past the cuffs as it pranced along.

The woman herself wore a fur-trimmed cloak suitable to the weather, but it was flung open to reveal her bodice in fully glory. A fan, of all things, was clutched in her hand and she wafted it vigorously before her at chest-height. Perhaps she hoped the lace trim set to fluttering around her decolletage would catch the Darkling's eye.

" _Moi soverenyi,_ how good it is to see you!" A coquettish brush of the fan came into contact with his forearm and Alina held her breath. No skin to skin contact needed here: she had felt fewer waves of affront rolling off of a heavily insulted cat than the Darkling just then. Somehow, the noblewoman remained oblivious.

"I was just speaking with Lady Uliana and we were saying how utterly _delightful_ it would be to visit a _banya_ in this weather." She cut her gaze to the nearby birch grove and back. "I know this one is for your Grisha, but—" The tip of a pink tongue touching just so to her lip. "—perhaps you might see the way to inviting. . .a guest?"

With a coy tilt of her chin, she gazed up at him through her lashes. The move had the unfortunate side effect of highlighting just how much her nose, well, glistened. And there, at her temple - Saints, was the woman actually _perspiring_ in this weather? No wonder she kept working that fan like she was intent on setting a ship sailing.

If it had not been for a particular thing or two, Alina would have shrunk out of the way, sure her presence was unwanted. But there was absolutely no ambiguity in the reaction she had felt zapping her skin from the Darkling. Nor was there any in the single, half-second glance the noblewoman had shot her over his shoulder: as though Alina herself were more rodent-like than the dog currently sopping his jumpsuit in a snow pile. It was the Queen again, staring at her like she was spitup from her snotty-nosed pet. It was the Queen, her cold look degrading Genya, who had become the only true friend Alina had here. It possessed her. She stepped firmly out to the Darkling's side and stared up at the other woman.

"I don't believe we met at court," she found herself saying, while in the back of her head, she prayed to all the Saints the woman had NOT been in the throne room or the Queen's parlor. She suddenly could not recall a single face from those moments.

The fan stopped dead in mid-air.

The Darkling was not one to let a tactical strike go unleveraged, putting in smoothly, "How remiss of me. Alina, this is the Duchess Biryukova. Duchess - Alina Starkov." A pause. "The Sun Summoner." Then, apparently deciding smoothness might be one slick step back into a quagmire, he added, "If you'll excuse us, we're in the midst of discussing some important matters."

It _sounded_ polite, if abrupt, but the look on his face was sufficient to finally get through even to the Duchess Biryukova.

"Of. . .course. Another time then. Antoshka is getting cold anyway." All that without actually looking at her rodent-dog, she turned sharply and stalked back up the path, hauling the unfortunate creature in her wake.

Alina stood in the silence that followed and wondered if she was, in fact, hallucinating the entire business. Too much sugar in her afternoon tea.

"She's a Duchess?"

"Mm."

". . .is she why _oprichniki_ guard the _banya_ when you're, uh… _?_ "

And before she could slap a hand over her own mouth in horror, the Darkling stared at her with raised brows for a good two seconds, before throwing back his head and _laughing._

Alina did so enjoy that sound.


End file.
